


Mirrors

by editingatwork



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Desert Bluffs, Gen, Kidfic, Night Vale, No Spoilers, Young Cecil, kid!cecil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-12
Updated: 2013-10-12
Packaged: 2017-12-29 04:32:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1000932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/editingatwork/pseuds/editingatwork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Someone’s going to kill you one day and it’s going to involve a mirror. Mark my words, child.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mirrors

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OctoberSpirit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OctoberSpirit/gifts).



The sun set early that evening and dusk had settled into the sky when Aunt Josie knocked on their door.

Cecil’s Mommy brought Aunt Josie into the kitchen. Five-year-old Cecil was sitting at the kitchen table, coloring in his kids’ book of Bloodstone Sigils. He remembered that because he’d come home from kindergarten upset that Steve Carlsberg had eaten his red crayon. Mommy had dried his tears, given him a big slice of Big Rico’s pizza, and told him she would call Steve’s mommy tonight to talk about it. In the meantime, Cecil used his other crayons to color in sigils of curses he wished upon Steve Carlsberg.

He smiled toothily at Aunt Josie, whom he recognized from the school field trip to the Night Vale Opera House.

“Please have a seat, Josie,” Mommy said, indicating a chair opposite Cecil. “Would you like some tea?”

“Yes, please,” Aunt Josie said. She returned Cecil’s smile. “Hello, Cecil. How are you?”

“I’m good, thanks,” Cecil replied, because Mommy said manners were important. “How are you?”

“I’m doing very well.” Aunt Josie’s hair was pulled back in a tight bun and she wore big, round spectacles that made Cecil think of owls. “Did you lose your front teeth, Cecil? I can’t remember if you had them when I last saw you.”

“Yes! And this one’s loose!” Cecil stuck a finger in his mouth and wiggled a molar to demonstrate. “But Mommy says I can’t lose it yet.”

“She’s quite right. Losing a tooth under a waxing moon is bad luck. The full moon is in two days, and then the moon will be waning. Perfect for tooth-losing.”

Mommy brought Aunt Josie a cup of tea and handed it to her.

“Thank you, dear,” said Aunt Josie.

Mommy nodded. She had a cup of tea for herself, and a glass of grasshopper milk for Cecil. He took a big gulp and crunched the twitching legs between his teeth. They ticked as he swallowed.

Mommy leaned against the table; there were only two chairs. Daddy didn’t need one. “It’s awfully late for a visit, Josie.”

Aunt Josie smiled kindly. “Indeed, and I thank you for welcoming me in at this hour. I would have called, but this isn’t something you speak of over the phone or through an open dimension in time and space.” She set her teacup aside, empty. Within seconds the tealeaf detritus at its bottom began to smoke. “One of my tall friends appeared to me.”

In the midst of coloring, Cecil sensed something sad from Mommy. Without looking up, he reached his free hand and took hers. He didn’t stop coloring.

Mommy drew a sharp breath.

Aunt Josie hummed. “He’s coming into his Sight very young,” she said. “He’s gifted.”

Mommy squeezed Cecil’s hand and he squeezed it back. The blue crayon was getting flat on one side, so he turned it over to use the side that was still round. Earn Harlan said he was stupid for being so careful with his crayons, they were stupid crayons and you weren’t supposed to keep them nice, they weren’t supposed to be perfect. Cecil didn’t want them to be perfect; he just wanted to take care of his things.

“…saying I want him to be ‘normal’ or such nonsense,” Mommy was saying to Aunt Josie. The tingle in his fingers touching hers jolted him out of his fuming. Mommy said, “He’ll never be. He _shouldn’t_ be, not here.”

“Nobody can be,” Aunt Josie replied. “Not for long. Not even outsiders like yourself, though you’ve adapted better than most.” She spit in her hand and murmured an incantation before cupping it over the top of her teacup, from which a dark and ravenous entity had begun to crawl. The thing hissed and died, escaping as sparks flew from between her fingers. Josie uncovered the cup and cleaned her hand with a handkerchief from her pocket. “My dear, might we continue this conversation in the sitting room? The Sheriff’s Secret Police should be able to hear us much better through the open window.”

“Of course.” Mommy squeezed Cecil’s hand again and tugged their fingers apart. “Cecil, Aunt Josie and I will be in the sitting room. We’re going to have grownup talk, so no listening today, okay?”

Cecil nodded. He looked up at her and grinned. “Can I listen if you don’t see me? Like a Secret Police?”

Mommy smiled. “No, Cecil. But you can listen when I call Steve’s mother tonight. Are we even?” She waggled her eyebrows at him but didn’t blink, staring him down.

Cecil stared back, trying to frown, but eventually he giggled. Mommy always won. “Even Stephen, barely breathin.’”

She kissed his forehead. “Thank you.”

Aunt Josie and Mommy left the kitchen. Cecil drank his glass of milk—quickly, now, because the legs were soggy. Then he got up and went to the cupboard, which opened with a sound like an angry cat and smelled of formaldehyde. Jars of eyes on the high shelves watched him as he located a bag of cheese-flavored chips. The doors resisted when he closed them, one even clawing at the kitchen floor with a skeletal foot, but Cecil tickled it until it relented and he was able to bolt the doors shut.

He took his chips to the kitchen table. But he was bored of coloring the provided sigil pictures. He flipped to the back of the book until he found an empty page.

Cecil was reaching for a green crayon when he heard it.

_“Hello?”_

At first he couldn’t be sure it was anything at all. The voice was so small. Soft but somehow gritty, like a hot breeze across desert sand.

_“Hello? Are you there?”_

“I’m here,” Cecil said. “Where are you?” A visual search of the kitchen bore nothing. Cecil climbed out of his seat. “I don’t see you.”

_“I don’t see you, either. Who are you?”_

“Who are _you_?” Cecil asked, because he wasn’t stupid like Steve Carlsberg, who gave his name to a rabbit once and spent a week getting nosebleeds whenever he smelled carrots.

_“You’re getting louder. Can you hear me? Am I getting louder?”_

While the voice talked, Cecil walked around the kitchen. He pressed his ear to the wall, the cabinets, even out into the hallway. “Sorta.” He heard a funny bubbling sound from the sink and moved closer to it. “Can you hear me n—” Cecil clamped his hand over his mouth. He’d been three when the Echoing had been exorcised from Night Vale. He remembered his old babysitter, Simone Rigadeau, monotonously calling those words as she wandered around his house. Cecil had painted the bathroom wall with peanut butter and jam once he realized she wasn’t aware enough to supervise him anymore. Simone had been taken away by people in red coats.

Looking up at the counter, he said, “I mean, is this okay?”

 _“I hear you!”_ The bubbling sound came again. Cecil ran to the kitchen table and dragged a chair to the counter’s edge. He’d grown a lot lately and could easily climb up to look into the kitchen sink. There were plates, and some bowls, and his favorite Night Vale Scorpions sippy cup. An inch of dishwater sat at the bottom of the sink, and in the water, iridescent and somehow indigo in the reflected kitchen lights, was the face of a boy who looked just like Cecil.

 _Just_ like Cecil. Cecil could only see his face and neck and shoulders, because it looked like the boy was leaning over to see out of Cecil’s sink. The boy wasn’t thin or fat, and he had a nose and eyes like Cecil’s. The boy was smiling.

_“Hi!”_

Cecil smiled back. “Hi!”

They grinned at each other.

Cecil asked, “Why are you in my sink?”

 _“I’m not in your sink,”_ the boy said. _“You’re in my bathtub.”_

“No, I’m in my house,” Cecil said.

 _“Well, I’m in_ my _house. Are you a Customer Service Representative?”_

Cecil frowned, confused. “No. What’s a Customer Serv—Service Reparie— What’s that?”

 _“It’s a person who watches you all the time,”_ the boy recited. _“Customer Service Representatives work for the CEO and they make sure you’re happy all the time.”_

Cecil considered this. “Like a Secret Police?” he asked.

_“What’s that?”_

“It’s a person who listens to you all the time and makes sure you’re safe.” Suddenly feeling confidential, he added, “I want to be a Secret Police when I grow up.”

 _“I don’t,”_ the boy whispered. He looked over his shoulder, nearly leaving Cecil’s view, then came back and put his face close to the water so he looked bigger. Cecil felt like the boy could fall up into Cecil’s kitchen if he leaned close enough.   _“Can I tell you a secret?”_

Nodding, Cecil hunkered down against the counter. “Uh-huh.”

_“I don’t like being happy.”_

That made no sense to Cecil. “Why?”

 _“Because… because it’s not real. It’s not real.”_ The boy blinked a lot and then wiped his face. _“Mama says she’s happy with me and it’s not real. Mama hates me.”_

“Mommies don’t hate you,” Cecil said firmly. He was sure about this. “My Mommy loves me. Your Mommy loves you.”

 _“She hates me,”_ the boy insisted. _“I can See it.”_

“My Mommy loves me,” Cecil repeated, because it was true, it was always true. “My Mommy loves everyone.”

And the boy stopped crying and stared at Cecil, his eyes reddened. _“Everyone?”_

“Everyone. Even Steve Carlsberg, probably.” Not as much as she loved Cecil, though. Absolutely not.

 _“I want a Mommy like that,”_ the boy whispered. _“Where are you? Are you in Desert Bluffs?”_

“What’s Desert Bluffs?” The word tasted like blood in his mouth.

_“It’s where I live. Where do you live?”_

“I live in—” Cecil started coughing.

_“Where?”_

“In—” He couldn’t say it, couldn’t stop coughing. Each time he tried, the coughing became worse. His throat started to hurt like there were knives in it, like someone was choking him, like the air he tried to use to speak was being sucked out of him.

 _“Where?”_ The boy kept asking. _“Where do you live?”_ His voice was a drill in Cecil’s ears.

Cecil gave an inarticulate, guttural cry, and vomited blood-flecked grasshopper milk into the sink.

Hands—warm, soft, Mommy’s hands—touched his back and forehead, holding him steady while he finished throwing up. As soon as he was done, he started crying.

“Cecil! Cecil, love, you’re okay.” Without even bothering to wipe up his face or shirt, she hugged him. “It’s okay, I’m here. Are you sick?”

Cecil gripped her shirt with all his strength to keep her close. He shook his head.

“Do you feel like you’re going to throw up again?”

“No, Mommy,” he sniffled.

“Do you want a glass of water?”

Cecil nodded.

“Okay. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

She scooped him up into her arms and got a damp paper towel, which she used to gently wipe the mushy puke off Cecil’s chin and the bit that had dripped onto his front. Once he was clean, she sat him on the counter and got a new sippy cup for him. Cecil said nothing as he slowly drank the water.

Meanwhile, Aunt Josie—whom Cecil had completely forgotten was there—got the grasshopper milk out of the refrigerator and smelled it, then tasted it. “I’ll take this to the Science Building at Night Vale Community tomorrow for testing,” she said, and wrapped it in a bag with the hazard sign on it. She came to him and rubbed his arm. “How are you feeling, little darkling?”

“Okay,” Cecil mumbled around his sippy cup. He didn’t want to talk. His throat hurt. His voice hurt. His stomach felt empty and tight. He wanted to go to bed in Mommy’s room where she could hug him and tell him she loved him.

“Cecil,” Aunt Josie said. “Who were you talking to?”

“The boy.”

“What boy?”

“The boy in the sink,” Cecil said. “I want Mommy.” He reached for her and hugged her tightly.

Over Cecil’s head, Mommy said to Aunt Josie, “Can this wait until morning? The flu is still going around his school, I want to put him to bed in case he’s catching it. If he’s better tomorrow, we’ll come by first thing in the morning.”

Aunt Josie didn’t say anything, and Cecil thought she was going to make him talk. Then, “Yes, that’s fine. Please call me in your bloodstone circle if you need anything.”

“Of course. Thank you, Josie.”

“You’re welcome, Alice. I’ll see myself out. Good night.”

“Good night.”

Cecil heard the front door open, then shut.

Mommy rubbed Cecil’s back and cooed at him. “Poor little man, you’ve had a rough day. Let’s get you into bed, huh?”

Cecil looked up at her. “With you?” he croaked.

“Hm?”

“Can I sleep with you, Mommy?”

She sighed. “Love… you know the rules. ‘Cross your t’s and dot your i’s, or suffer the consequences.’ If we don’t file the paperwork, they don’t know why you aren’t in your room, and then they can’t make sure you’re safe.” She nuzzled his nose. “You’ll be safe in your bed.”

“No!” Cecil clung to her. “No, Mommy.”

“Cecil—”

“ _NO, Mommy_!” Pulling away, he saw her staring at him, wide-eyed. He gulped. “Please, Mommy? Please.”

“… Okay. Just tonight. We’ll put a note on your pillow.”

Cecil nodded and hugged her again.

****

Twenty minutes later, Cecil was curled up in Mommy’s bed wearing his purple penguin pajamas and black octopus socks. Mommy had gone back downstairs to clean up the kitchen and call Steve Carlsberg’s mommy. Cecil wasn’t upset about missing that. He felt a lot better now that he wasn’t in the kitchen anymore, and had brushed his teeth so he didn’t taste blood and acidic milk.

He felt icky because he hadn’t taken his nightly bath. As soon as Mommy had turned on the tub faucet, Cecil had started crying. He hadn’t meant to, but he’d remembered what the boy said about Cecil in his bathtub. Cecil didn’t want to see the boy ever again.

Cecil eventually drifted off, although he woke twice that night. The first time was because the mattress was shifting as Mommy climbed in next to him and pulled the bed sheets up to his shoulders. He shuffled over until he could feel her warm breath on his hair, and then sleep took him once more.

The second time Cecil awoke, he didn’t know why. It was dark, with just the waxing moon shining light into the room. Cecil thought he could see a Secret Police in the tree outside their house but he wasn’t sure. It probably was a Secret Police, though, making sure he was safe.

He realized Mommy was awake too. She was staring at him.

“Hi, Mommy,” he whispered, and kissed her nose.

“Someone’s going to kill you one day, Cecil,” she said. She didn’t blink. “Someone’s going to kill you one day and it’s going to involve a mirror. Mark my words, child.”

Cecil stared back, but couldn’t stop the giggle that jumped out. Mommy always won.

Mommy blinked. “Cecil? What are you doing awake, love? Go back to sleep.”

“Okay, Mommy.” Cecil sighed, burrowed into the pillow, and slept.

**Author's Note:**

> From a sort-of prompt by octoberspirit on Tumblr. http://octoberspirit.tumblr.com/post/63776615562/as-my-mother-used-to-tell-me-someones-going-to
> 
> No point nor purpose; generally I just wanted to write something creepy.
> 
> Un-beta'd, so all mistakes and issues of continuity are my own.


End file.
